I don't even know where to start

I have only just stumbled across this page, and it's "nice" to know that there are so many others that feel similair to how I do - not that it makes anything any easier or better, just that I am not alone in being such a lost cause. 

I can't tell you what is wrong with me. I don't know what is wrong with me. I have never taken any kind of medication and things will stay that way for as long as i can survive as I have seen first hand what that can do to people. People often rely on medication and I don't want to. Yes, I know that it would probably make me feel better (Ican't feel anyworse) but I don't want to be stuck on it for the rest of my life, like many unfortunaly are. After many cancelled doctors appointments due to being scared to go, I did evantually open up to a doctor in a flood of tears. He referred me for counselling but suprise suprise I didn't attend. I played over all the possible scenes in my head and made myself sick with anxiety. So instead, I smoked some joints and put it to the back of my mind like everyelse.

The truth is I have never, ever felt normal. Growing up people would desrcibe me as "shy" or "weird" but still feeling the same way at 23, I know that it has to be more than this. Often I wonder why my parents never got me help, or made me see a preffesional at a young age - perhaps it could have been dealt with then, perhaps not, who knows.. I used to hide in the toilets to scared to go to lessons at school, I even spent some breaks locked away in a toilet cubicle. I lasted only a couple of months at university because I didn't even dare leave my room to meet my flat mates. Somoene I knew from college made me loads of pasta and food and put it in the fridge for me when he came to visit. There it remained, as I wasn't even strong enough to walk to the fridge. Now I am left in a dead end job wasting my life. I have been here for three years. I understand that mant people that feel this way can't even work, but my job was given to me by a family friend and I find that routine is key to stopping my brain exploding.

I have never had many friends as I struggle to talk to people and communicate. Anxiety? definitely. But, it is more than that now I think. I constantly feel like I have nothing to offer anyone, I have no qualities or talents and nothing that would be missed if I was to leave. I am a failure and I don't know what to do. These feelings of self doubt have been especially strong since my Dad passed away.

My Dad was a paranoid schizophrenic with a wholebunch of other mental illnesses but most of all my best friend and then person that understood me more than anyone else on the planet. He turned to alcohol. When I was young, me and my younger sister would stay there every weekend and evantually is was just me looking after her whilst my Dad was sat on the sofa not even knowing whether we was really there or whether he was imaging us. This might sound dreadful but it was worth it for the happy times we could spend together when he was feeling ok. 

I moved in with him for the last few years of his life. I knew things were getting bad and I did not want to see him alone. He was bleeding a lot and often I would have to call an ambulance. My sisters helped at too first but evantually, I don't blame them, they didn't think they could do anymore and stopped contact. So I would go to the hospital in taxi everytime alone to see him and try to help. It got really, really bad and I managed to raly us all together to try one last time. We spoke to all sort of people in the sector and managed to arrange rehab for him, free of charge. He had even arranged to go. This was amazing because as many of you will know the mantal health support offered is absolutely terrible and my Dads support worker would rarely even turn up to the meetings that they had arranged. Things were looking up for once and I was so glad. 

The night before they were coming to take my Dad into rehab I had "stern" words with him. Never before had I done this, I was his little girl and he was my Daddy. But I knew that it was urgent and I wanted to make sure that he wasn't going to change his mind. I told him that I would never see him again if he didn't go. Amongst other things. 

The next day could have been great but it wasn't. Me and both of my sisters went to my Dads to have a quick chat before the support worker was due to arrive. When we got in the house my Dad wasn't on the sofa and my older sister said that she knew something wasn't right. I just pressumed that he was in bed, as that is where he often was when I got home from work or anywher else. So as normal, I went up to see him. But there he was, on the floor, with cups full of blood and a pool next to him on the floor. He had gone.

Now I am left full of guilt. I should not have bene harsh with him the previous day, I should have acted normally and kissed him and hugged him and told him that I loved him like I did every other day. Then perhaps, this could have been avoided. Maybe then he would have called me to ring an ambulance for him like usual. I don't know. To me, I just don't understand why he didn't call me.. he must have knew what was going to happen or what was happening to him. 

Anyway, I feel like I am begining to rable so I will shut up now. I don't really understand how this website works, but now - here is another derpressing story for people to see. 

Now I guess that I will just carry on with my routine life and as always try and keep my mind busy as much as possible to avoid thinking about how much of a shit I truly am. 

 

 

 

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